he Brigadier held over
me, that if I went into the trenches or anywhere out of his immediate
ken I should be sent back to No. 2 General Hospital, was something
which weighed upon my spirits very heavily at times, and caused me to
acquire great adroitness in the art of dodging. In fact, I made up my
mind that three things had to be avoided if I wished to live through
the campaign--sentries, cesspools, and generals. They were all sources
of special danger, as everyone who has been at the front can testify.
Over and over again on my rambles in the dark, nothing has saved me
from being stuck by a sentry but the white gleam of my clerical (p. 038)
collar, which on this account I had frequently thought of painting
with luminous paint. One night I stepped into a cesspool and had to sit
on a chair while my batman pumped water over me almost as ill-savoured
as the pool itself. On another occasion, when, against orders, I was
going into the trenches in Ploegsteert, I saw the General and his
staff coming down the road. Quick as thought, I cantered my horse into
an orchard behind a farm house, where there was a battery of Imperials.
The men were surprised, not to say alarmed, at the sudden appearance
of a chaplain in their midst. When I told them, however, that I was
dodging a general, they received me with the utmost kindness and
sympathy. They had often done the same themselves, and offered me some
light refreshments.

On the following Sunday we had our first church parade in the war
zone. We were delighted during the service to hear in the distance the
sound of guns and shells. As the war went on we preferred church
parades when we could not hear guns and shells.

After a brief stay in Caestre the whole brigade marched off to
Armentieres. Near Fletre, the Army Commander, General Smith-Dorrien,
stood by the roadside and took the salute as we passed. I went with
the 15th Battalion, and, as I told the men, being a Canon, marched
with the machine gun section. We went by the delightful old town of
Bailleul. The fields were green. The hedges were beginning to show
signs of spring life. The little villages were quaint and picturesque,
but the pave road was rough and tiring. Bailleul made a delightful
break in the journey. The old Spanish town hall, with its tower, the
fine old church and spire and the houses around the Grande Place, will
always live in one's memory. The place is all a ruin now, but then it
formed a pleasant home a